


Like No Other

by LeChatRouge673



Series: The Witcher Tales [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:00:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeChatRouge673/pseuds/LeChatRouge673
Summary: For Eskel, home was wherever he was currently hanging his monster head's. When his old friend, Geralt, seeks his aid in the battle against The Wild Hunt and to protect his adopted daughter, Ciri, Eskel returns to the crumbling Witcher fortress of Kaer Morhen to fight in the upcoming battle. He did not entirely expect to survive the fight, and he certainly did not expect to find a new reason to keep living.Livia was used to running; had been doing it all her life. Never putting down roots, avoiding meaningful connections, and generally staying one step ahead of whatever faction was hunting her on that particular day. Offered sanctuary at Kaer Morhen in exchange for her aid against the Wild Hunt, Livia jumped at the chance. She did not realize she find something much more within the ancient walls.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: The Witcher Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050413
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

_Then the time for being sad is over  
_ _And you miss 'em like you miss no other  
_ _And being blue is better than being over it_

-“Hallelujah” by Panic! At the Disco

* * *

_Vesemir-_

_Listen, got a wee bit of a favor to ask you. An old friend of mine needs a place to lay low for a bit given the current climate in Novigrad. And where safer than a witcher fortress in the middle of bleedin’ nowhere, eh? She’s a quiet little thing, and you’ll hardly notice she’s there with all the space you’ve got echoing ‘round you, but it would mean a great deal to me if you could let her stay for a ~~spell~~ bit. _

_I’m afraid I can’t rightly wait for a response, so I’ll be sending her on shortly after this here missive. Look for an auburn haired lass, eyes like blue starfire, riding the most ornery looking beast I’ve ever laid eyes on._

_Her name is Livia._

_-Zoltan_

* * *

Scorpion stomped his hoof impatiently, already anxious to be safe within the walls of Kaer Morhen where he knew grass and grain awaited him. How many years had they returned to the old witcher fortress? No wonder the great black beast had developed the association. Eskel shook his head briefly before nudging Scorpion forward through the main gate of the keep. It was earlier in the year than they traditionally returned; usually Eskel would only return when winter gripped the land, seeking refuge in the crumbling fortress and whiling away the long nights and bitter days by the fire, trading stories and sharing mugs of ale with Geralt and Lambert and sometimes even old Vesemir himself.

But change was in the wind. After many long years Geralt’s ward, Ciri, had returned to the world. That in itself was enough to catch Eskel’s interest, but the more pressing issue was that the Wild Hunt was allegedly hot on her trail. His old friend needed their help, and so both he and Lambert had agreed to return to their traditional stomping grounds and prepare for the worst. Based on the sounds of aggressive sword slashes and exuberant swearing, the youngest witcher had beat him to the keep.

Sure enough, as Scorpion entered the courtyard, Eskel spotted Lambert destroying a training dummy with the sort of ruthless efficiency that marked the other man’s style. There was very little grey in Lambert’s world: fate had shown him little pity, and thus he showed little to his quarry. Still, he wasn’t so bad on measure. Annoying as hell, maybe, but not so bad. Lambert lifted a hand in greeting as Eskel dismounted, letting Scorpion wander unencumbered over to the waiting troughs of water and feed.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Lambert smirked as he set his sword aside, but he clasped Eskel’s forearm with warm familiarity.

“Geralt already here?” Eskel asked, looking back towards the stable for any sign of Roach. He could not exactly remember which iteration of ‘Roach’ they were on now, but they had all looked more or less the same. Eskel would have recognized her (he was fairly certain this one was a mare?) had she been in residence, but there was no animal resembling Roach in the stable. There was, however, a surly looking black warhorse that he could not recall ever seeing. If horses could glare, this one was, sure as anything.

“Oh, yeah,” Lambert shrugged when he saw where Eskel was looking. “Geralt’s not here yet, but we’ve got another ‘guest.’ Vesemir took in another hopeless case, as a favor to Zoltan I guess.” The other man paused for a moment, then his mouth broke out in an impish grin. “She’s a sorceress.”

Eskel didn’t bother to repress his sigh. “Great. What was Vesemir thinking, exactly? The world is falling to shit, we’re already up to our neck in sorceress scheming, and he lets another one just waltz into Kaer Morhen? Is that why you’re out here instead of inside?”

“Fuck, I don’t know why he did it.” Lambert shook his head. “Like I said, I gather he’s doing it as a favor to Zoltan, though what kind of sway she has over _him_ I haven’t the slightest idea. Hasn’t really been an issue, though. Quiet as a dormouse, that one. Honestly, I barely know she’s there, which suits us both fine I guess.”

“Hmph.” Eskel strode back over to where Scorpion was still giving the sorceress’s horse a wide berth. He couldn’t blame his faithful mount; he took much the same tact when dealing with wielders of spells themselves. “She got a name?”

“Course she does,” Lambert replied, eyeing him as though he were simple. “Livia. Only name she gave, anyways. Claims she has no other, but who knows if that’s true or not. Either way, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I’ve been here for two weeks and seen her three times. Got _maybe_ a half dozen words out of her. At least she doesn’t seem as inclined to meddle as the Lodge.”

“For now,” Eskel amended drily, but his friend just offered another shrug. “She’s still a sorceress. How often has that worked out for us?”

“Look, she mostly keeps to her tower, and hasn’t once ordered me or Vesemir about. I did find some celandine salve by my cot the morning after I was complaining about my shoulder hurting, and I know she’s been brewing some sort of tea for Vesemir’s cough, but beyond that I’ve barely noticed her existence.” Lambert clapped him on the shoulder as they headed towards the main keep.

“You’ll live.”

* * *

_He’s nothing like Zoltan described_.

Not for the first time, Livia rued the fact it had been necessary for her to flee Novigrad before she’d made the time to speak with the bard Dandelion. And then the idiot had gone and gotten himself captured as part of some hare-brained scheme. She was still a bit fuzzy on the details there; had not really cared enough to ask. Dandelion was always hopping out of one frying pan or another from what she understood, and she was confident he would find his way out of this one as well. He was a nuisance and a braggart, but much like everyone else Livia could not help but like him nonetheless, and he would have been a good source of information. Zoltan had only been able to give her the broadest of descriptions for her hosts.

She and the dwarf had been friends for years. Liv had once saved him from a gang of angry villagers after a gwent game went sideways in rather spectacular fashion. She’d never really gotten a good answer as to _what_ exactly had led to her future dwarven companion hanging by his ankles and being swatted at with sticks, but the aggressors had taken one look at the glow she’d allowed to burn behind her eyes ever so briefly and decided a few coppers was not worth crossing a sorceress.

Of course, she’d had to leave town after the incident. No point making it any easier for them to find her than it was.

Still, Zoltan had proven to be a loyal friend from that moment on. When she’d arrived in Novigrad he had been the first person she had sought out, and he had given her safe haven at the Rosemary & Thyme, not breathing a word of her secret to anyone. But even he could not shield her forever, and when the pogroms against her kind intensified it was agreed that, once again, she would have to flee. Zoltan had sent word to his contacts at Kaer Morhen, one of the few places left in the north where a sorceress might find shelter.

_The scar is bad, but not so bad as he made it sound_ , Liv reflected, watching silently from the shadows of her tower. Vesemir had allowed her to choose whatever space she liked that wasn’t already occupied, although he’d warned her much of the keep was no longer fit for occupation. It had not surprised him in the slightest when she had picked one of the tower rooms, and she had made the room her own as best she could: fresh herbs perched in the windows that received the best sunlight, the few books she refused to abandon set neatly on a rough shelf, and a desk was littered with notes and scrawlings and sketches.

The old witcher had been wary of her at first. Of course he had: Zoltan had warned her that the witchers of Kaer Morhen did not have the best history with the Lodge, and _everyone_ had heard the ballads about the White Wolf and his sorceress love. Livia liked Yennefer, but she knew the woman could be… forceful. Still, if Livia was good at anything it was making herself disappear, and for the first month she had mostly stayed out of sight. Eventually, however, she’d decided it may not be the worst idea if she tried to make herself useful. Vesemir had picked up a nasty cough over the previous winter that he hadn’t been able to kick even months later, so Livia had ferreted through her stash of herbs and breathed in a bit of her own magic to a brew that she had left silently at his side with his morning meals.

At first, he’d simply nodded his thanks. Then, on the fifth morn, he’d gestured to the seat across from him and offered her a bit of the simple porridge he’d made. Livia had accepted, and slowly but surely they began exchanging the sort of innocuous tales strangers do. Bit by bit, day by day, she told him pieces of her story, and he gave her pieces of his own. By the next moon, they were chatting like old friends, and Livia had developed an affection for the gruff old witcher. She could see why Zoltan had referred to him as the resident father figure to the wolf school boys.

_I wager Eskel likes sorceresses about as much as Lambert does_ , she sighed internally, watching as the two men conversed in the courtyard. For all that she had grown to trust Vesemir, Livia was still wary of Lambert and he was wary of her. Vesemir had told her once that Lambert’s bitterness was not entirely unfounded, but he had offered no more than that and Livia had not asked. The youngest witcher seemed content to ignore her presence, and she in turn was content to be ignored. She knew something about being forced into a life she wanted no part of.

She had more or less been able to piece together why the witchers were returning to their fortress long before the winter months that usually marked their visits: a storm was gathering, and at the center of it was Ciri, Geralt’s surrogate daughter and a child of the Elder Blood. Pursued by the Wild Hunt and coveted by the Lodge and the Empire, the woman would have to make a stand somewhere sooner or later. Livia knew this, and she knew that it was likely to be here, at Kaer Morhen. Vesemir had warned her that she may be no safer here than in Novigrad.

_Better to die on my feet with a storm in my hands than on a pyre for the amusement of the masses_ , she’d replied quietly, and he’d nodded in grim understanding.

Livia stepped away from the window, having seen all she would be able to from that distance. Eskel was a new unknown, but he was allegedly the more even-tempered. Triss had once told her in confidence that Eskel’s magic was stronger even than Geralt’s, which was no small feat, but it also meant that he would detect her presence more easily than the others would. She’d have to be more cautious; lighter on her feet. No matter.

She had survived this long.

* * *

The first time he actually heard her speak, Eskel nearly jumped out of his skin.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting: something more strident, perhaps, or otherwise unpleasant. Instead, her voice was soft and had traces of an accent he couldn’t quite place, and it was far less demanding than he was used to, at least when it came to sorceresses. Although he continued working on the draconid oil he’d been brewing, Eskel found his attention split between the simmering potion and the conversation Livia was holding with Vesemir.

“Would you consider allowing me to re-seed the upper garden beds?” She asked. “I will still tend the vegetable beds, of course, but the others have lain fallow for too long, and with your permission I would like to try growing some of my herbs there.”

“Of course, Livia,” Vesemir nodded his assent. “Whatever you like. It’s not as though any of us are going to be digging about in the dirt anytime soon, so you may as well put it to use.”

“Thank you.” She offered the old witcher a quiet smile and bent to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I am going to start now, if you’ve nothing else needs doing at the moment, and I’ll see what I can bring in from the vegetable patch. I snared a few rabbits this morning, so perhaps we’ll have stew for supper?”

Vesemir chuckled quietly. “That’d be just fine. Although I admit, I worry we’re going to go a bit soft with you here, making us eat balanced meals and whatnot.”

Livia rolled her eyes, which were the purest shade of blue he had every seen, but Eskel could see she was still smiling. “Somehow I doubt that.” She stood up from the table and pulled a long, forest green ribbon from her pocket and used it to tie up the long locks of hair tumbling down her back. _Nice color on her_ , he thought before he could stop himself. As she passed by him her gaze caught his, and she seemed to hesitate for just a breath before offering him a slight nod and continuing out the front doors of the keep.

“Did I just hear that correctly, or are the herb fumes getting to my brain?” Eskel turned to Vesemir. “Did a sorceress just make a request instead of a demand?”

Vesemir shrugged. “Liv’s a good sort, Eskel. I know you have a chip on your shoulder after what happened with Deidre, and from watching Geralt get into all manner of trouble with Yennefer, but give the woman a chance. She’s whip smart, and interesting to talk to if she has a mind to speak. Besides that, she’s been immensely helpful around here: patched up that wall in her tower on her own, and several holes in the roof to boot. Weeds the gardens and takes her turn at the cookpot, so I have no complaint for her.”

“If you say so,” Eskel replied, a thin line of skepticism in his tone, but he also could not help but feel an inexplicable draw of curiosity when it came to Livia, and he idly wondered if this was how Geralt always seemed to end up in the messes he did.

Still, when he had finished brewing the potions and neatly labeled the vials, he found himself wandering outside. The kitchen gardens were a far cry from what they had once been when the keep was in full use, but Livia seemed to have made the best of a chaotic situation. The beds had been meticulously weeded, and now distinct rows marked various vegetable plots. At the moment she was carefully planting herb starts in the upper bed, gently settling each verdant seedling into the rich earth before nestling it in a blanket of soil.

“Grow,” he heard her murmur softly, her voice lilting slightly towards musical, before shifting towards another patch and reaching for another herb.

“Can’t you just do that with magic?” Eskel asked. She shrugged, seemingly unperturbed by his presence, though she had given no indication she had been aware of his approach.

“Not really.” She stood, brushing her hands off on her trousers. “If I had the ability to grow plants at will, Witcher, there would be far fewer starving children in Velen right now.”

It was the first thing she had said directly to him, and it took him a moment to process his response. “Makes sense, I suppose.”

Livia smiled slightly, her eyes meeting his own without any of the arrogance or disdain he had been expecting. “I also believe that some things are simply best left to nature,” she explained. “These herbs will have the opportunity to absorb what gifts the soil and the sun and the air can provide, and in turn will share those gifts with me when I harvest them.” She stepped down to the lower bed and began gathering up a pile of carrots, potatoes, and herbs she had already collected.

“Would you like help?”

The offer seemed to surprise her as much as it did him, but after a moment of hesitation she nodded, handing over half of her haul. They walked back to the keep, each keeping their own counsel, and in fact they did not speak the rest of the evening. Eskel instead simply sat and half listened while Vesemir and Lambert argued over some contact the latter had taken in Kovir, and Livia silently sipped her wine. He was keenly aware, however, that for all her silence Livia was absorbing every word that was spoken.

_Probably to use against us later_ , he thought before he could stop himself, and almost instantly regretted it, though he could not say for certain why. Livia was a puzzle, no question, but not one Eskel thought he had any business solving. Nothing good could come of that. Which was why he was more than a little annoyed she seemed to occupy his thoughts farther into the night than she should have. She was beautiful, of course, but sorceresses usually were. He’d long since learned that just because they were nice to look at didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous.

Yet the next morning when he noticed her presence during his training exercises, he made no comment, nor did he stop. For her part Livia seemed content to perch on one of the scaffoldings that had sprung up around the courtyard, expression curious but posture relaxed, one graceful leg hanging over the edge as she leaned against the boards. Whatever it was she was gleaning from her observations, Eskel was not bothered enough by them to protest.

As the sun rose in the sky and he set aside his sword, Livia hopped down and picked up a bow. Counting off paces from the dummy he had just abandoned, she paused. Nodding in silent satisfaction, she nocked an arrow and drew back the bowstring. Now it was Eskel’s turn to watch with thinly veiled curiosity as Livia began sending arrows downrange. He wasn’t certain he’d ever met a sorceress who had bothered learning to fight with anything beyond spells. Why would they?

He shook his head as he turned and made his way back to the keep.


	2. Chapter 2

_A moment you'll never remember  
_ _And a night you'll never forget._

-“Hallelujah” by Panic! At the Disco

* * *

She’d wondered if he would be back.

Livia did not look up from the precise row of ranogrin she was planting, but she knew he was there, and she knew he would speak when, and only when, he was ready to. His silent presence did not displease her, and so she was content to bide her time. Finally, he spoke, asking the question she’d been expecting for the last week.

“Why bother with a bow?”

“Despite the belief of some of my sisters, I do not see magic as a solution to everything,” she replied evenly, only now looking up to meet his golden gaze. “It is a tool, and a useful one at that, as I’m sure you would agree.” Livia stood and walked over to where Eskel was leaning against a crumbling stone wall, and she accepted the waterskin he offered her. The sun was directly overhead now, and it was hotter than she had realized.

_Thoughtful._

“Never met a sorceress who bothered, I guess.” He glanced down at her, eyebrow raised, and she sighed.

“When you avoid using magic as much as I do, you learn to rely on more mundane skills,” Livia explained. “I have been running and/or in hiding most of my life, even before the rise of the Witch Hunters, so I have a fair bit of experience keeping my ‘gifts’ under wraps.” She took another sip before handing him back the waterskin. To his credit, he did not ask the question she knew he wanted to:

_What were you running from?_

“A story for another time,” she spoke softly, giving an answer to the unspoken thought. They stood there for a moment, surveying her handiwork in peaceful silence. Livia appreciated that Eskel never prodded; never pushed. He never asked of her any more than she was willing to give, yet he had also proven more companionable than Lambert. She was finding that she rather liked his company, and was perhaps unreasonably pleased he seemed to seek her out more often than not.

“You really think it will be safer here than in Novigrad?” He finally asked.

Livia shook her head slowly. “No. But it is as I told Vesemir: better to die on my feet than on a pyre. Better to die for something real than for the ignorant hatred and blind fear of men.”

“You never know.” Eskel gave her a wry smile, “We might survive.”

Despite herself, she laughed softly.

“I hope so.”

_I hope so._ The words echoed in her mind as they walked slowly back to the main hall. When had she last allowed herself hope beyond that of her most basic survival? There was so much more wrapped up in the word this time, though she was still puzzling out exactly what. They parted ways at the doors: he drifting towards the grindstone and Livia ascending the stairs to her tower. She had intended to do some more research, but every time she tried to read a paragraph her mind seemed resistant. Instead, her thoughts kept straying towards the soft-spoken witcher.

_Yes. I definitely like him._

Rolling her eyes in frustration, she set the book aside and instead took up her mending. She’d torn a ragged gash in her favorite pair of trousers the last time she’d gone hunting and hadn’t made time to fix them before now. As she worked, however, her concentration was so poor she ended up pricking her finger as often as the supple leather.

_It would never work_ , Livia reminded herself irritably, not for the first time. _He does not trust sorceresses, and you can no more shed your magic than he can shed his mutations._ Somehow, these mental admonitions were doing very little to keep her thoughts from drifting, however. She had begun to spend more time than she cared to admit thinking about Eskel, and wondering how much she was willing to tell him about her life; her past. Livia wanted him to trust her, wanted him to see that perhaps not all sorceresses were intent on grand political schemes or power plays. She did not begrudge her sisters their politics; someone had to look out for their best interests. It was simply not where _her_ interests lay.

Still, perhaps it was better to allow herself the daydreams than to risk her hard-earned security. She had made a life of blending into the background; of not getting involved. That ability to disappear had given her the freedom she so desperately craved, but it had also made for a lonely existence. She’d never had trouble making enough coin to survive: there was always a trade in herbal remedies that either healed one’s body or their vanity. For a while Livia had done a brisk trade in Beauclair mixing hair dyes and other cosmetics for the noble ladies of the city and had been able to squirrel away a fair amount in savings. Of course, those savings were now safely locked away in Cianfanelli’s Bank and doing her very little good at Kaer Morhen. _At least it should be gathering interest_ , she thought dryly.

Memories of Toussaint made her slightly wistful. She had loved the sunny countryside and the wine that flowed like water. For a time, she had considered settling there permanently and had even bought a house in the country with a small bit of farmland, but she had been chased north again by rumors that her pursuers had once more picked up her trail. Besides, there were worse places she could have landed than Kaer Morhen. Well… perhaps not from the perspective of the likelihood of her continued survival, but the scenery was truly breathtaking. Livia found the dramatic peaks and mysterious forests beautiful in their own way. She could do without the drowner infestation down by the lake, and Eskel had been mentioning a forktail he needed to try and chase down, but for the most part her new home had proven more than adequate.

Hell, at least for the moment she had a solid roof over her head.

Weeks passed. Every so often they would receive word from Geralt: sometimes optimistic, or as much as the White Wolf ever was; sometimes Livia could practically hear the frustration in the words Vesemir read aloud when they sat by the fire in the evening. It was beginning to wear on all of them; the waiting. Even Livia, who really had nowhere better to be, was beginning to grow restless. Finally, one morning, she entered the main hall and informed the men that she intended to hike up to the ruins of the old fortress.

“ _Why_?” Vesemir asked with a sigh.

“I am going stir crazy,” she replied simply.

The old witcher rubbed his forehead briefly. “Alright, not that I could do much to stop you even if I wanted to. Would you consent to having one of the boys accompany you? For my peace of mind, nothing more.”

Livia briefly considered requesting Lambert’s presence simply to irritate him, as he was currently doing his best to sidle out of the room, but before she could say one way or the other, Eskel spoke up.

“I’ll go. I wanted to head up that direction anyways, clear out some of the harpies that have been nesting up there.”

He made the offer offhandedly, as if it did not much matter if he went or not, but Livia couldn’t help but be glad he had. She gave a small nod of acquiescence, ignoring the smirk spreading across Lambert’s face. The ass had probably realized she was developing feelings for the other man, and she had no doubt he would give her hell for it later, but for the moment she simply breezed past him as she grabbed an empty basket from one of the precarious piles against the wall and strode out the front doors. Once she had stepped into the sunlight she waited for Eskel, who followed shortly after her.

They walked in silence for awhile, save an occasional warning about a loose stone on the path or to point out an herb worth collecting. As they neared the crumbling walls of the fortress, Livia took a sudden detour wading through the long grasses and riots of wildflowers towards a copse of trees. Apple, if she had to guess.

“Want to see if there’s anything worth salvaging?” She called back to her escort, who gave a brief laugh.

“Sure. Wouldn’t hold your breath, though. These trees haven’t been tended for decades.”

“You might be surprised,” she replied. “Besides, if we find enough, I can bake something. I have some sugar I’ve been hiding away for something special. It’s been some years since I’ve made apple pie, but I think I remember the gist of it.”

“Can’t be any worse than Lambert’s fish stew,” Eskel observed. “Here.” He knelt down in front of a reasonably promising tree and offered her a boost. Livia stepped lightly into his palms and swung up into the branches as he lifted her up.

“Not a ton to choose from, but more than I expected,” she called down. “How good a catch are you?”

“Good enough,” was his response. “Just warn me before you start lobbing apples at my head, alright?”

“What, afraid I’ll give you a lump to match the scar?” Livia hesitated, briefly worried that perhaps she had crossed a line she should not have.

Instead, she just heard a faint snort. “Right. Honestly, probably would make for a less embarrassing story: assault by apple.”

Livia laughed, breathing in the faint perfume of the apples on the trees. “Alright, well, get ready. I think I see a few that are worth salvaging.”

“Just be careful,” Eskel cautioned. “You fall and break your neck, Vesemir will probably have my hide.”

“Doubtful.” Livia reached for an apple before tossing it in the general direction of Eskel’s voice. “But good to know you have at least _some_ incentive to catch me if I fall.”

“Promise.”

She tossed a few more apples down, trying to decide if now was the right time to indulge her curiosity. “So may I ask why, exactly, the story behind your scar is embarrassing? Was it a tryst gone wrong, perhaps? Or maybe a fall down the stairs after a hard night drinking?”

The inquiry was met by silence, and for a moment Livia wondered if her escort had left. She began to carefully lower herself through the branches, but when she released her hold to drop the last few feet she was surprised to instead land in a strong pair of arms, and to find herself staring into Eskel’s golden eyes. “Do you make a habit of catching sorceresses that fall from trees?”

“Told you I’d catch you,” he pointed out softly as he lowered her carefully to the ground.

“You did,” she acknowledged, her gaze holding his, searching for _something_ that she could not quite name but that she desperately wanted to find. “You do not have to answer if you don’t like,” she added, trying to steady the racing heartbeat she knew damn well he would have been able to pick up from much farther away then they were. “I ought not to have asked.” She settled down against the roots of one of the trees, and she could not decide if she was irritated or pleased when he joined her, slicing up one of the apples with a small blade before offering her a piece.

“It was not one of my finer moments,” he finally admitted with a sigh. “You’re familiar with our law of surprise?”

Livia’s brow furrowed slightly. “An old custom in which one who saves another’s life claims the right to ‘what you find at home yet don't expect.’ Often as not it seems to end up being a child, though I have not seen the rationale for that.”

“They say it’s destiny,” Eskel shrugged. “If you ask Lambert, it’s a pretty shitty destiny, but there you have it. Many years ago, longer than I care to admit anyways, I saved the life of a knight and I claimed the law of surprise since I did not have the damndest idea what else to ask for at the time. I didn’t count on the result being a child, and a child born under the black sun at that.”

“You know that is nonsense, yes?” Livia interrupted, irritation creeping into her tone. “That whole ‘curse of the black sun’ thing. It is absolute nonsense. Children born during such solar events suffer not from a curse, but from the fear and neglect of superstitious parents.”

“You want to hear the rest of the story or not?”

Livia bit her lower lip slightly, but nodded, accepting another slice of apple as Eskel picked up his tale. “I spent years going to sometimes ludicrous lengths to avoid going anywhere near this kid or the kingdom where she lived. I had no idea how to raise a child, let alone on the Path or even here at Kaer Morhen. Well, one day destiny, if you want to call it that, caught up with me. Deidre showed up and asked sanctuary of the Witchers, and Geralt convinced Lambert and Vesemir that we had to help her, neutrality be damned. She was in the middle of a battle with her brother for her rightful place on the throne, and he got a sorceress, Sabrina, involved.”

He paused for a moment, and his hand brushed briefly against the scar on his face. “Well, it went about as well as you probably think it would. It ended up in a free for all, and Deidre lost control. She gave me this.” He gestured to the scar. “For my trouble. It turned out more or less ok, I guess. Her and her brother made up and ended up ruling their little realm together, so she was out of my hair one way or another. I don’t think she meant to hurt me, or maybe she did, I don’t know. It’s probably about what I deserved for not taking responsibility for her in the first place. And hey, at least most people see it and assume I got it taking down some horrific monster. Better than just about any other recommendation I could ask for.”

Livia was quiet, processing her thoughts. She _had_ made that assumption, actually. The truth was so much more horrifying; not for the mark it left on Eskel’s face, but for that which it had to have left on his soul. Tradition held that the mutations they underwent stripped witchers of their emotions, but Livia believed that about as much as she believed the moon was made of fine cheese or the story about buying a bridge cheap in Novigrad.

“Was she a sorceress?”

Eskel’s frowned briefly in confusion. “Deidre? No. Or at least, not that I’m aware of. She could _negate_ magic and signs, which was unusual and inconvenient, but I don’t think she could actively use magic. Why?”

Livia shrugged. “You do not like my kind. You do not trust us.”

To her surprise, Eskel just gave a brief snort of laughter. “That has very little to do with Deidre, and a great deal more to do with Yen. I don’t know how well you know her, but I’ve seen the way she leads Geralt around by the nose. And Phillipa Eilhart? Síle de Tansarville? Even Triss, to some extent. Geralt may be ok meddling in the affairs of emperors and kings, but I am definitely not.”

“And that, my friend, we have in common,” Liv announced, standing and brushing the dirt from her trousers. She looked back to Eskel, who was eyeing her with what could rightly be interpreted as incredulity.

“Did you just call me your friend?”

“Should I not have?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. Just… not what I expected.”  
  
If Livia did not know any better, she would have said he almost sounded disappointed. She took a step closer, looking up at him. After a moment of hesitation, she reached a hand up to trace her slender fingers along the smooth ridge of the scar that ran along the right side of his face.

“I am rarely what people expect,” she murmured softly. “Give it time, Eskel. I may surprise you further yet.”

* * *

_I may surprise you further yet_.

Eskel wasn’t quite sure what to make of Livia’s words. Yet another piece of a puzzle he still could not decide why he was piecing it together. Despite his reservations, he _liked_ Livia. She had seemed so quiet when he had first arrived, yet by now they were able to carry on conversations like old friends, or at least they were when it was just the two of them. He’d actually been able to make her laugh a couple of times, telling stories of contracts that had gone sideways, and the sound was so pleasant it made him smile too. Eskel started trying to think of other ways to make Livia smile, just because doing so managed to brighten his days as well.

He liked Liv. As far as sorceresses went, she wasn’t so bad. Fuck, even as far as human beings went she wasn’t bad. He liked the way she seemed to know when he wanted to talk and when he just wanted someone there to sit and drink with him as the fire burned down to embers. He liked the way she would wake before the dawn to hunt, never bringing back more game than they could use, and she had confided that she said a brief prayer for every animal life she took, no matter how small. He liked the way a lock of mahogany hair would come loose from the carefully pinned knot at the base of her neck and brush against her cheek, framing the almost painfully clear blue of her eyes while she read or worked with her herbs.

Eskel liked the way she always seemed to run her eyes over him when he returned from whatever tasks took him away from the keep, trying to subtly ensure he had come back in one piece. Or the way she always seemed to sit beside him when they gathered for meals, or would linger over a glass of wine with him after the others had gone to bed, a soft smile on her lips and a thousand stories between the two of them. He liked the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled and flashed when she was irritated, and the way her hips moved under her clothes and the way she left her blouse tied just a hint too loose, letting it cling to her curves.

And he was damn well not sure what to do about any of it.

Feelings were not something he was real big on. The idea that witcher mutations stripped their bearers of all emotion was bullshit, of course: they had simply been trained to rein them in far better than most, and perhaps the mutations gave them more control in that regard, but they still felt anger, amusement, sorrow… and yes, even love, although that last one was often more of an inconvenience than it was worth. Hell, if they didn’t all love Ciri so much they wouldn’t be in their current predicament, but damned if they weren’t going to do everything they could to protect the woman.

He liked Livia. A lot more than he had expected, and a lot more than was probably good for him. Too often he was kept awake by thoughts of her smile, her touch, her laughter…. And too often his dreams were occupied by far more of her than that. She was not like any other sorceress he had ever known and, half the time, he forgot she was one at all. She still hadn’t told him why she avoided using her magic, or why she was running, and he hadn’t pressed. Either she would tell him or she wouldn’t, but he knew better than to poke at anthills without reason. They were all already on edge: no point making things more complicated than they needed to be.

Eskel looked over to where Livia was thoroughly thrashing Lambert at a game of Gwent. The other witcher had not realized that Livia had been slowly fleecing him ever since she arrived at the keep; winning by only the slightest margins and occasionally throwing a game to keep his interest, only to suddenly play a round that saw him lose by over a hundred points. That was just the way her sense of humor was: subtle, but with a quiet mischievous streak that crept up at the most unexpected moments. She caught his glance, a smile flashing briefly across her face as she made her final play: a scorch card that took out three of Lambert’s scoia’tael. She hadn’t needed to do it; the game was already hers. It simply amused her.

“Fuck.” Lambert sighed as he threw back the rest of his ale, but there was no bitterness in the curse. “Alright Liv, you win. I’ll patch the western wall tomorrow.”

She laughed quietly as she stood, pressing a good natured kiss to Lambert’s forehead. “I do appreciate a good loser. Thanks for the game, Lambert.”

“Up for another round?” The younger witcher asked, but Liv just shook her head.

“Not tonight, I think. I need to be up at midnight tonight to harvest some herbs that are most potent then, and I don’t want to wait for another full moon. And you two,” she raised an eyebrow slightly as she turned to look in his direction, “Shouldn’t stay up too late either.”

“Yes, mother,” Lambert rolled his eyes.

Livia passed by him as she walked towards her tower, her hand brushing briefly against his shoulder. “Sleep well,” she murmured, lips tilted up in a quiet smile. Eskel gave her a simple nod, watching her as she left.

“Oh for… would the two of you just fuck already?”

Eskel turned towards Lambert slower than he was inclined to; no point in letting his friend know he’d gotten under his skin if Eskel could avoid it. “Something you want to say, Lambert?”

Lambert looked at him skeptically. “There is enough tension between the two of you to strangle a man. I know you’ve got hang ups about sorceresses, but she’s obviously interested, and so are you. You could do a lot worse: Liv is definitely _not_ ugly.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eskel lied, taking a seat across the table and accepting the mug of ale Lambert passed his way.

“Like hell you don’t,” the other man grinned. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with our resident sorceress. _A lot_. The old man’s already resigned himself to you taking her with you when you leave, assuming any of us are still alive at that point.”

_Taking her with me?_ Eskel had not thought about that; not really. It suddenly occurred to him that he had actively been avoiding thinking about anything beyond the immediate future, and part of that was his unwillingness to think about a time when he would once again leave Kaer Morhen. When he would leave Livia. It had honestly not crossed his mind that any woman would ever willingly follow him on the Path but then, Liv herself had said she’d spent most of her life wandering, rarely staying in one place for very long. If anyone would be well-suited to the life, it would be her.

For that matter… They say no witcher ever died in their bed, but who was to say that would never change? Already the world around them was undergoing massive upheavals, and who knew what would happen with Geralt and Ciri and that mess. Would it be so awful to perhaps someday settle down somewhere? And would it be so awful to settle down with Livia?

_Damn it… do I love her?_

“Look,” Lambert continued, blissfully unaware of Eskel’s chain of thought, “No one is saying you have to marry her, but it would sure as hell ease some of the tension if you would just take her to bed. Or are you worried you’re out of practice?”

Eskel gave a brief snort. “I am _not_ out of practice, asshole. Just…” He threw his hands up in frustration. “Liv isn’t some tavern girl you fuck in a back room in between rounds, or one of the women from the Passiflora that are just doing their job.”

“Ah, shit,” Lambert sighed. “You actually care about her, don’t you?”

“She’s a friend. I don’t want to lead her on, or-”

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Lambert countered. “How is letting her think you’re not interested even while you spend all this time with her not leading her on?”

Eskel just shook his head. “She’s just being nice, Lambert. Hell, she puts up with _you_ , my company is probably a relief after that.”

Lambert rolled his eyes. “Oh ha ha. Didn’t realize you’d become such a comedian. But just think on this: if the world really is ending, and we’re all gonna die anyways, what are you going to regret? Spending some time with a woman who, yeah, is a sorceress, but also damn easy on the eyes and not so unpleasant to be around? Or going to your grave sexually frustrated and alone?”

He didn’t answer Lambert, and he knew the other man did not really expect him to. Instead, Eskel drained the last of the ale from his mug and set it on the table with more force that was probably necessary. “I’m going to bed,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, sounds like you need it,” Lambert observed. “But think about what I said. And if I happen to notice someone sneaking out after a certain sorceress when she goes to harvest her herbs tonight, I will do my best to pretend I didn’t.”

“How thoughtful,” Eskel replied dryly. He trudged away from the table and back to the cots that had served as the witchers’ quarters during their time at Kaer Morhen. No point heating the whole keep, Vesemir had pointed out. Liv managed fine in her tower with some spells and the clever use of furnishings, but the rest of them had simply claimed a cot, tossed down their belongings, and thrown up some screens to mark off the sleeping area from the rest of the main floor. No privacy to speak of, but at least it was indoors.

Eskel tried to sleep, but once again his thoughts kept him up later than he intended. He was still awake when he heard Livia’s nearly imperceptible footsteps slip quietly out of the keep on her way to collect her herbs and whisper her incantations, and he was still awake to hear her when she returned bearing the smells of greenery and moonlight and magic. For just a breath of time, Eskel considered following her; of stealing her away for just a few quiet moments where they could talk and he could try to convince himself that what he felt was nothing more than the same care and concern he’d have for any of his friends. Failing that, he could try to convince himself that she had no more than a platonic interest in him so he could shake himself loose from whatever had taken a hold of his common sense.

Instead, he lay there, listening to the Vesemir’s quiet snoring and Lambert’s occasional sleep-hazed muttering, straining to hear the delicate footsteps for as long as he could and breathing in the cool autumn scents that had clung to Livia’s skin when she returned.

_Tomorrow_ , he promised himself. _Tomorrow I will talk to her, and we will settle things one way or another_.

Tomorrow, however, had very different plans.


	3. Chapter 3

_My life started the day I got caught  
_ _Under the covers  
_ _With secondhand lovers  
_ _Oh, tied up in pretty young things  
_ _In a state of emergency  
_ _Who was I tryna be?_

-“Hallelujah” by Panic! At the Disco

* * *

Livia felt Yennefer arrive before she heard her, though it did not take long for her to hear the other woman dashing out orders. Livia threw on her clothes, wove a messy braid into her hair, then descended the spiraling staircase down to the main hall. No point postponing the inevitable.

Sure enough, as soon as she stepped foot into the echoing front room, Yen turned and gave her a brisk nod. “Ah, Liv, good. You’re already here. Zoltan sends his love and Geralt should be here with our… guest… within the week. In the meantime, I need your assistance. Here is a list of potion ingredients I will need, as well as some bases that I would greatly appreciate you brewing when you have a spare moment.”

Livia accepted the list with an internal sigh. There was no point arguing with the other sorceress. She could choose to be petulant and simply not acquiesce to Yen’s demands, but really, she wanted to help. And Yen really wasn’t such a bad sort: just used to having her own way about things. Yen had also always been kind to Livia in her way despite the fact, or perhaps because of it, that Livia had never joined the Lodge, nor shown any inclination to. Besides, for all that she could be… bossy, Yen was at least honest, and she said what she meant. And perhaps more importantly, Liv knew she could be honest with Yennefer and the other woman would not pout or engage in passive aggressive bullshit.

“I will begin work on this,” Livia agreed as she fell into step besides Yennefer. “The cursed creature you mentioned… do you truly think it could be Ciri?”

Yennefer was quiet for a moment. “I do not know,” she finally admitted. “I am not certain if I hope that it is, and we have reached the end of our search, or if whoever is within is simply the key to finding her. To be honest, I do not envy the creature the steps I may have to take to release it. I think… I think I would prefer it not be Ciri.”

“I understand,” Livia nodded. She stopped when she reached the door to the workshop, but Yennefer spoke again before she departed.

“Have they treated you well, here?”

Livia frowned slightly. “Of course. Vesemir worries over me more than he should and Lambert is a pain in the ass, but he’s a good sort deep down. Perhaps _very_ deep down,” she amended dryly.

“And Eskel?” Yennefer looked at her expectantly, and Livia fought to keep the color from rising in her cheeks.

“He has been kind,” she replied evenly.

The other woman shrugged slightly, either oblivious to or unconcerned with Livia’s rising embarrassment. “I only ask because they do not seem to much care for me. For good reason, perhaps, but I worried for you being here by yourself.”

Despite herself, Livia could not help but be slightly touched by Yennefer’s concern. She was also slightly relieved that Yen did not seem to notice the way her breath had caught slightly when she had asked about Eskel. “Thank you, but I have been fine. Happy, even, to my surprise.”

“Good,” Yen nodded with finality. “Well, to work then. You’ll let me know when you are finished? I need to see about removing some refuse from my rooms.”

“Of course.” Livia offered a small smile as Yennefer swept away towards the same tower room she always claimed. She suspected she knew _exactly_ what furniture was about to be removed from said room, and was therefore not terribly surprised when the entire bed, mattress, frame and all, was sent flying out the window. _Good for her. I’d have probably done worse._ She’d been tempted to ask Yen where exactly she had sent the other witchers, but not enough to risk her ferreting out more information than Livia was currently willing to give.

As it turned out, she did not need to. She had gathered the required ingredients and begun work on the potion bases when Vesemir ducked into the room. He seemed briefly alarmed to find anyone in the workshop, but relaxed when he realized it was only Livia. “So this is where she sent you off to,” he observed. “I hope she wasn’t too-”

“It was fine, Vesemir,” Livia laughed quietly, wrapping her arm around the old Witcher’s shoulder and squeezing briefly. “I may not have the same power she does, but she respects me well enough. Or at least, as much as she does anyone.”

Vesemir studied her for a moment. “I think you understate your abilities, Livia, by a wide margin. Though I suppose I am grateful you have had no cause to prove me right.”

Livia turned away. “Perhaps,” she conceded. “Though I was not lying: Yen and Triss are both stronger than I am.”

“But not by much.”

She shrugged, her attention returning to the potion base she had set to simmer. “Probably not, no.”

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Well then I’m glad you’re on our side,” he said. “Anyways, I just wanted to check on you before I get back to work. Geralt should be here within a couple of days, if he rides hard. Lambert is getting ready to trek up to the mountains to charge the phylactery Geralt sent with Yen, and Eskel is finally tracking that forktail. Apparently Yen needs its spinal fluid for whatever harebrained scheme she’s cooked up, so it’s really killing two birds with one stone.”

“Thank you, Vesemir.” Livia offered him a small smile, and he returned the gesture. He had offered the information she sought without forcing her to ask for it; dropped it in casually as if it did not matter, but she knew that he had noticed just how much it did matter to her. For all she knew, he had already warned Eskel of all the myriad reasons it was a bad idea to get involved with a sorceress; hell, Eskel probably already had an extensive list of his own, but she rather doubted Vesemir had sold her out. He had, in fact, shown her more kindness than she probably deserved.

The next few days passed quietly, with everyone working at their own tasks. Lambert had still not made the trip to the altar in the mountains, but Livia suspected he was waiting for Geralt to arrive to see if it would even be worth the trouble. The youngest witcher trusted Yen’s instructions about as far as he could throw her. For her part, the other sorceress spent much of her time in her rooms working on some project that, based on the voluble swearing that could be heard echoing off the stone walls from the upper reaches of the keep, was not going well at all. Livia was irritated to find she missed Eskel’s presence more than she cared to admit, and she was oddly relieved when Geralt finally arrived with his strange charge in tow, giving her something new with which to be distracted.

It was difficult not to stare at the poor, deformed little creature that Geralt carefully lifted from the saddle as they dismounted. It seemed amiable enough, but it could never be considered ‘cute.’ Geralt gave her a nod and a small smile when he caught her eye.

“Good to see you, Liv. These asses treating you alright?” He tossed his head in the direction of Lambert, who made a reasonable show of mock offense.

“I am well, Geralt,” Livia laughed. “Thank you. And this is Uma?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know, not much to look at, but…” He shrugged.

“But it could well be Ciri,” Liv finished his thought for him. “Well, one way or another I hope we will soon find out.”

“Geralt! Good to see you,” Vesemir greeted his former student warmly. The two men began discussing plans and trading news, and Livia took the opportunity to drift away. There was still work to be done.

That afternoon, Geralt departed the keep once again to trace Eskel’s footsteps and to help the other man bring down the forktail. “I’m sure he can handle it on his own,” Geralt had confided to Livia, “But Yen wants it done quickly, so…” He had given a shrug, then mounted Roach and headed out the main gate. Livia had half a mind to saddle Ombra and follow after him, but she suspected the two men had some catching up of their own to do.

Apparently Yen had been correct in her assessment, as both witchers returned with the required spinal fluid shortly before sundown, laughing over some private joke and covered in dust from an impromptu horse race. As she always did, Livia did a cursory once-over for injuries. Eskel had a long scratch on his right forearm, but nothing that seemed too serious. He caught her looking at the wound and gave her a slightly sheepish grin. Shaking her head with a small smile of her own, she offered her hand and he obediently gave her his arm. She dipped her fingers in an oil of celandine and white myrtle petals she had prepared earlier before running them carefully over the scratch, murmuring the words to speed healing.

“Thanks,” Eskel spoke quietly as the skin knit neatly back together, and Livia’s smile widened slightly.

“Of course,” she replied off handedly. “As much as I hate to deprive you of another scar for your collection.”

He laughed under his breath. “Yeah, I’ve heard women are into men with scars. Fortunately, I’ve got loads of them to spare. One less won’t make much of a difference.”

Livia examined her handiwork, then released her hold on his arm. Before she could step away, however, Eskel caught her hand in his and brushed a kiss against the back of it. Her breath caught before she could stop herself, and when she looked up she saw his golden eyes fixed on her.

“Appreciate it, Liv,” he murmured.

“Anytime,” she breathed. Then she turned and walked back towards the workshop before he could see just how pink her cheeks had turned.

* * *

And then, there was nothing to do but wait.

The preparations had all been made, and though Yennefer was eager to start whatever madcap process she had devised, Vesemir had put his foot down and announced that he intended to try and lift the curse himself first. Yennefer had argued; of course she had, but the old witcher had held his ground. And so the rest of them had found themselves with a night off. Eskel had at least made a token suggestion to do something productive, but had been outvoted, just as he knew he would be. They had even persuaded Livia to sit with them rather than retreating back to her tower.

They’d had a few drinks together, catching up. Eskel and Livia had more or less kept Lambert from ending up with Yen’s boot up his ass despite his best efforts, and for the first time since she’d arrived Livia was actually willingly sharing some of her stories from the road. Yen had been the first to call it a night, but the rest of them decided to keep going. Eskel knew he would probably end up regretting it; it always ended the same way when the three of them got together, and tonight was shaping up to be no different. Oddly enough, Livia still did not seem any worse the wear for having matched them drink for drink. Maybe it was a sorceress thing.

She was sitting beside him now, close enough that even had he not had witcher senses he would have been able to detect the subtle scent of tuberose she wore. At some point she had either lost or removed the ribbon from her hair, and it was falling in thick waves around her shoulders. Occasionally she would reach a delicate hand up to push back a stray lock, her arm brushing his in the process. It was really no wonder that Geralt had managed to thoroughly thrash him at Gwent: his mind was not on the cards, but on the woman at his side.

“So,” Geralt asked, voice just slightly slurred, “What was this about a samovila?”

Eskel gave a brief snort. “Oh, yeah, the contract… Snared this peasant in her dance. Instead of being happy he escaped with his life, the yokel fell head over heels in love. Wanted me to trap her. Turned him down, so he tried it on his own, with a fishing net. Bet you they’re still dancing a mazurka in some fallow field.”

“It’s a great story!” Lambert declared, raising his mug, a sly smile spreading over his face. “With a moral too!”

“Oh yeah?” Geralt asked suspiciously. “What’s that?”

Lambert took a long drink before replying. “ _Stay away from dangerous women_.”

“Will you _ever_ lay off Yen?” Geralt growled.

“Yeah. As soon as I trust her,” Lambert retorted.

Eskel took a long drag from his own mug. His head was getting fuzzy, but it was getting harder and harder to say no to another round. “You’d brave a fire for her. Whereas she plays you like a cheap fiddle,” he shrugged. “Way it’s always been.”

“Yen has her moments,” Livia spoke up quietly, “But she protects the people she loves. I can respect that. She would not be here; would not be sticking her neck out, if she were so cold-hearted as you make her out to be.”

“Ex- exactly,” Geralt hiccupped. “Listen to you two goddamn relationship experts. Neither of _you’s_ been with a sorceress.”

“For good reason,” Eskel pointed out.

For some reason, Lambert and Geralt fell silent. Then, as she stood, Eskel remembered who had been sitting beside him.

_Oh, fuck_.

“Looks like the bottle is empty,” Liv said quietly, and Eskel could hear the slight splinter in her usually sweet voice. “I’ll go grab another, shall I? Assuming you boys think you can keep up.”

“Thanks, Liv,” Geralt nodded, the gesture slightly off kilter for the alcohol, then he turned and glared at Eskel. “Seriously?”

Eskel threw up his hands. “I forgot she was there! Besides, Liv doesn’t count. She’s not like the rest of them.”

“Eskel likes Livia,” Lambert chanted.

“Fuck off,” Eskel grumbled.

Lambert just laughed, nearly falling off the bench. “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much. I keep telling you, the two of you just need to- _ow_.”

Eskel was fairly certain Geralt had administered a swift kick to Lambert’s shin as Livia re-joined them, carrying not one but several bottles. Apparently she really was going to see how well they could keep up with her. “C’mon,” Geralt suggested, “Let’s do something fun.”

“What, we boring you?” Eskel demanded.

“Nah, Pretty Boy is right,” Lambert nodded somberly. “Listen, there’s this game… Student from Oxenfurt taught it to me. Someone starts by saying, ‘I never…’ and finishing the sentence however they want. Whosever done that thing, downs a shot. Then it’s the next guy’s turn.”

“Sounds great,” Eskel agreed. “You start.”

“Ok.” Lambert gazed off into space for a moment, then said, “I’ve never… slept with a succubus.”

Eskel sighed, but downed his drink. Geralt didn’t, but to their mutual surprise Livia did. He turned and stared at her. “Seriously?”

Her lips curved up in a small smile, and in that moment Eskel had to resist the urge to lean down and kiss her. He wished he could blame it on the drink, but in reality that urge had been growing steadily for some time, and at this point he could only hope he didn’t do something stupid while under the influence.

“Is it so hard to believe? Succubi do not always limit themselves to virile, attractive men, you know. And as it turns out, neither do I.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Lambert laughed. “Our little Livia has some fun stories after all! Granted, you’re sure as hell not bad to look at. If I were a succubus, I’d definitely consider you prime prey.”

“Watch it, Lambert,” Eskel growled, and before he could stop himself his hand had drifted around Livia’s waist to her hip. More surprising, however, was the way she leaned ever so subtly into his touch.

“Never make the mistake that simply because I choose not to speak means that I have nothing to say,” Livia shrugged, still leaning against him.

Eskel just shook his head, though he also did not move his hand from around the sorceress. “Right, my turn. I’ve never, after a bender, woken up wearing nothing but my knickers.”

This time, all three of the others downed their drinks. “Best part?” Lambert grinned. “They weren’t even my knickers.”

“Let’s just say strip gwent is in fact a thing, and that I had a really unfortunate streak of bad luck,” Livia deadpanned. “I suppose it’s my turn… let’s see… I never called out the wrong name during sex.”

Geralt and Lambert both drank, and Livia just laughed. “Lambert I expected, but _really,_ Geralt?”

“Hey,” Geralt mumbled, “Not my fault the girls at the Passiflora all kind of look the same after a few drinks.”

“Alright Geralt,” Eskel spoke up, “Your turn. I’ve never…?”

“…taken fisstech,” Geralt finally announced.

“Shit,” Eskel sighed, downing another drink.

“Eskel… really?” Geralt asked incredulously.

“Once,” Eskel admitted. “With that succubus.”

“Alright, I- I got one,” Lambert tripped over his words. “I never… fell in love with a witcher.”

The table fell deathly silent. Geralt was glaring daggers at the youngest witcher, but beside Eskel, Livia slowly raised her mug and drained it. Then, without batting an eye, she refilled it. She stood and walked around to the other side of the table and wordlessly dumped the contents onto Lambert’s lap. Ignoring his sudden yelps of protest, she bent and pressed a kiss to the top of Geralt’s head.

“I believe that is enough for me, gentlemen. Try not to stay up too late.”

And then she walked away without so much as a backwards glance.

“The- the fuck is wrong with you, asshole?” Geralt asked unevenly as he smacked Lambert upside the head, only half succeeding in his attempt.

“ _Ow!_ ” Lambert protested. “It’s not like we didn’t already know.”

“That was a prick move, and you know it.” Eskel growled. “Whatever is between me and Liv, and I’m not saying there’s anything at all, it’s none of your damn business.”

“Fine, whatever,” Lambert threw up his hands in defeat. “Why don’t you go grab some more drinks. We’re all out again.”

“Fine.” Eskel pushed himself back from the table harder than he intended to, nearly keeling over as he stood. He staggered in the general direction of the storage room that had served as their liquor cabinet for the past few months, but instead found himself ascending the stairs to Livia’s tower. When he reached her door, he swayed slightly, but managed to rap out an unsteady rhythm against it. She opened it, then almost immediately pinched the bridge of her nose.

“What do you want, Eskel?”

“S’true?” He slurred, trying to organize his thoughts and failing spectacularly. “You love a witcher?”

Livia rolled her eyes. She had changed into her nightgown, and the material was finer than anything she wore most days, clinging to her curves and accentuating all the places Eskel had dreamed of touching her for weeks. “I believe the game was ‘I never.’ That would imply that at some time in my life I have loved a witcher. I do not recall ever indicating when it occurred.”

“Y’know what I mean, Liv,” Eskel persisted, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Do you… do you love me?”

Livia stared at him for a long time, her painfully blue eyes searching his as she bit her lower lip, seemingly trying to make a decision she did not want to make. Finally, she spoke. “You’re so fucking drunk you will not remember this conversation anyways, will you? So yes, Eskel. I love you. I love you, and if you asked it of me I would follow you anywhere. Now, what exactly do you plan on doing with that knowledge?”

_Fuck… what do I say?_ Eskel wracked his brain, suddenly deeply regretting his detour. This isn’t how he wanted to have this conversation; wasn’t how he wanted to ask her about her feelings, or admit his own. He had no idea how long he stood there silent, but finally Livia just shook her head.

“Goodnight, Eskel,” she said firmly, carefully shutting her bedroom door with him on the other side.

“G’night, Liv,” he mumbled, then slowly began making his way back downstairs to find more booze.


	4. Chapter 4

_I was drunk and it didn't mean a thing  
_ _Stop thinking about  
_ _The bullets from my mouth  
_ _I love the things you hate about yourself_

-“Hallelujah” by Panic! At the Disco

* * *

Not for the first time in her life, Livia woke up grateful that she could hold her liquor.

She had no doubt her companions would be feeling the effects of last night’s revelries far harder than she was, at least from a physical perspective. From an emotional one… That was an entirely different story.

Livia had told Eskel she loved him. Had bared her soul to him knowing, or perhaps hoping, full well he most likely would not remember any of it in the morning. She hadn’t the slightest idea of how witchers handled drink, but she suspected that even if he did remember their conversation pride would dictate he would not repeat it to anyone. So she went downstairs, confident in the fact that no matter what she had revealed, it would make absolutely no difference in the grander scheme of things.

“Oh thank the gods you’re here,” Yen sighed as Livia entered the main hall. “I need the assistance of someone who does not currently reek of booze and whose vision is steady.” The others were already gathered, with the exception of Geralt, who seemed to still be trying to gather his trousers and other effects. Livia gave a slight nod to Yen, then took a place beside Vesemir. Eskel had caught her eye as she entered; had shifted his place as if to make room for her, but she was not ready to deal with that heartache quite yet.

“Alright. We are ready to begin,” Yennefer announced as Geralt joined their number. “You all know what you must do?”

There was a series of nods around the table, including Livia. Her role was not so important; simply providing support to Yennefer and shoring up spells as needed. It was a fair assessment of the rest of her existence: simply someone else that was a tool to be used. She shook her head, trying to shake the petty bitterness loose. Although, if she was being honest, a tiny spiteful part of herself was gratified to see Eskel looking decidedly worse the wear for the night before.

She took a deep breath… remembered why she was here…

Time passed. More than she could count. She watched, helpless, as the poor creature was subjected to the Trial of Grasses. Livia could do nothing, save for be there for those who had to suffer through the ordeal. A comforting hand on Vesemir’s arm, or an encouraging smile for Geralt. Anything to make this easier. Occasionally Yen reached out and drew from her power, but only with Livia’s consent. There was never any question of that where Yen was concerned, and Livia was grateful for the respect the other sorceress showed her. Not everyone did. And when Uma vomited his stomach contents on both the floor and the sorceress, Livia was oddly grateful again that Yen insisted Geralt be the one to wipe her down rather than Eskel. Finally, against all odds, a humanoid figure began to emerge from the hideous form that had been Uma. Not a human, but an elf. A strangely familiar elf…

Avallac’h. The elven sage. Trouble in every sense of the word.

“Oh… _damn it_.” Livia whispered, almost unaware of the hand Eskel placed against her back to steady her; hadn’t even noticed that he had moved to her side. Avallac’h spoke a few strained words that Livia could not quite make out, but that Geralt obviously did. Then, with what remained of his strength, Avallac’h created a floating orb of light that would ostensibly lead them to Ciri.

There was no question. No uncertainty. “I’m going,” Geralt announced, and no one made any move to stop him. The elven sage had given Geralt the means to finding Ciri, and the rest of them had given him the means to finding the allies they would need to defend Kaer Morhen when the time came. For now, there was little else to do but wait.

So Livia had done what she always did: saddled up Ombra with the intention of riding as far and as fast as she could, trying to avoid the inevitable consequences of her own actions. It helped, somewhat, that they were relatively trivial in the grand scheme of things. Yet he had still found her in the courtyard as she prepared to ride.

“Liv… please.” Eskel’s voice was an anchor, bittersweet and sure, and Livia was not entirely certain she wanted it.

“Eskel, you made it abundantly clear last night that you had nothing to say to me,” she replied stiffly, reining in Ombra against his tendency to defend his mistress. The horse gave a huff of irritation, but stood down after a final toss of his head to indicate his displeasure. “And if you remember anything of our conversation, then… then I apologize. I think we all had a bit too much to drink, and I ought to have known better.”

“Livia,” he spoke her name softly, almost like a plea. “We need to talk. There are things you deserve to hear.”

“And perhaps I do not wish to hear them,” she replied, her voice far more certain than her heart was. “Eskel, I- I was wrong, to ask more of you than I had any right to, and for that I am sorry. However, it is done. I can say no more than I already have, so perhaps it is for the best that I leave for a while lest I lose what few shreds of dignity I have left.”

And with those final words, she nudged Ombra into a cantor, then a gallop. And she ran away from Kaer Morhen, her feelings, and any hopes she may have had for a future. Somewhere behind her she thought she heard him call out her name one last time before all she could hear was the thundering of hoof beats and the wind rushing past her ears. Livia had no idea where she was riding off to but then, she rarely did. Eventually she would have to go back to the witcher keep, but for now she just wanted time to think.

She would have had to tell him sooner or later. Even Lambert had realized she was attracted to Eskel, so it was not as if she could have kept it under wraps forever. Still, it would have been nice to be able to do so on her own terms rather than after a night of heavy drinking and other questionable decisions. When he’d shown up at her door that night, Livia had thought… actually, she wasn’t certain what she had thought. What she might have hoped for. She wasn’t delusional enough to think that he might reciprocate her feelings; perhaps at best he would have been interested in sharing her bed for a few nights before they had to face down the Wild Hunt.

Of course, there was still the strong likelihood they were all going to die, so perhaps she would not have to worry about any of it much longer. Livia slowed Ombra to a walk, and breathed a heavy sigh.

_Silver linings, I suppose_.

* * *

Help began arriving within a week of Geralt’s madcap ride south.

Eskel was still a bit stunned his fellow witcher was moving as quickly as he seemed to be; wondered how poor Roach was managing. Vernon Roche and his protégé, Ves, were the first to arrive, followed in short order by Zoltan. The latter had been a bit awkward: the dwarf’s first request had been to see his friend that he had entrusted to them for safekeeping, and Vesemir had conveniently made himself scarce, leaving Eskel to explain that Livia had ridden off days ago and hadn’t been seen since. He’d been worried about her, but Vesemir had dissuaded him from going out looking for her, saying that she probably just needed some time to herself. Eskel had also been more than a little concerned that Zoltan would be angry, but the other man merely shrugged.

“Liv can take care a’herself,” he noted. “Though I’m mighty curious to know why she hared off in the first place. Her letters made it seem like she were happy enough here?”

Eskel hadn’t had a good answer for him, and Zoltan had seemed to pick up on his discomfort because he had tactfully changed the subject, asking if Eskel had improved his gwent deck any since the last time they’d played. Hjalmar an Craite arrived the next morning, two of his comrades in tow, and the druid Ermion was not far behind. They’d barely had time to greet the old man before a second portal opened in the courtyard and Triss Merigold stepped out. She gave Yennefer a polite nod before warmly embracing first Vesemir, then Eskel.

“It is so good to see you all,” she smiled. “Although you, my friend, look as though you’ve swallowed a lemon.” Triss gave Eskel a good natured poke in the arm before leaning up and pecking a friendly kiss against his cheek.

“Pretty sure that’s just my face Triss,” he pointed out, but he returned her bright smile with a small one of his own.

“Nonsense. Something has obviously got you out of sorts,” she insisted, but Eskel was saved from further questioning by the sound of approaching hoof beats and the impatient snort of a horse as it entered the courtyard.

“Triss. I did not realize you had arrived.”

Both Triss and Eskel turned to face Livia as she faced them, her expression carefully neutral, but he noticed there was a stark difference between the warm greeting Livia had offered Yen and that which she now gave Triss. Eskel realized that he was still standing perhaps too close to the other sorceress, and he took a step closer towards Livia, who had not bothered to dismount from the monster she called a horse. How someone so tiny had so thoroughly managed to cow the great black warhorse, he still did not understand. He had to admit, however, that at the moment Ombra was doing a great deal to make Livia look all the more fierce. The beast was eying both him and Triss with suspicion, pawing impatiently at the ground as if daring either of them to come closer.

“Livia,” Triss nodded. “It is good to see you. I was relieved to hear that Zoltan had gotten you out of Novigrad before things got any worse.”

“Thank you,” Livia replied evenly, her tone carefully polite. “I am relieved to find you well. I trust Kovir has treated you kindly?”

“It has, yes.”

“Well,” Livia finally swung down off of Ombra’s back, landing gracefully and sending the beast to the stables with a quiet word and a gentle pat on the neck. “That is certainly good to hear.” She still had not made eye contact with him, and Eskel was getting the distinct feeling she was in fact avoiding him. She did not seem any worse the wear for having been gone for nearly two weeks, which gave him some small sense of relief.

“Liv,” he finally spoke up, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve- we’ve been worried sick about you.”

She shrugged, still not meeting his gaze. “Around. Triss, I’m sure Yen has already caught you up, but if there is anything I can do to help please let me know. In the meantime,” she finally turned and faced him, her gaze flat. “I’m sure the two of you have a lot of catching up to do.” And with that, she turned on her heel and strode gracefully towards the main keep, leaving Eskel and Triss staring after her.

“So _that’s_ why you’re looking so miserable,” Triss laughed softly. “Eskel, you surprise me! I thought you had a firm rule against sorceresses.”

Eskel sighed. “Yeah. So did I.”

Triss shook her head, grinning slightly. “Come on then. Let’s go inside, you can tell me all about it, and we’ll see if we can’t unravel whatever mess you’ve managed to get yourself into.”

They made their way towards the keep and, as they did so, Triss pulled most of the story out of him, right up to the night of drinking that had led to Livia confessing her feelings and her running away after they had lifted the curse that had held Avallac’h. Triss listened carefully, asking clever questions but not really adding much. When he finished his recital, she reached over and gave him a comforting pat on the arm.

“I would ask if it’s a witcher thing, this inability to properly express feelings, but I have found it’s true of most men, and some women,” she remarked dryly. “You obviously feel _something_ for her, or you wouldn’t have been so worried when she ran off, and you wouldn’t be this moody over her not talking to you.”

“I am _not_ moody,” Eskel protested, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Triss countered. “Look, I know a little something about heartbreak, and it was written all over Liv’s face plain as day. You _need_ to go talk to her. Soon. Now. Before it’s too late and you end up regretting not doing it.” She stood and smoothed the wrinkles from the front of her blouse. “Go talk to her,” Triss repeated, kindly but firmly, then wandered off to go speak with Vesemir.

Eskel stood as well, planting his hands on his hips and exhaling deeply. _Shit. This is a really stupid idea_. He turned to where Yen was paging through a spell tome nearby. “Hey, Yen? You seen Liv?”

“Hm?” The other sorceress looked up briefly. “Oh, yes, I think she swept through here a little while ago. You might check the workshop.”

“Thanks.” Eskel wandered in the direction Yen had suggested, pausing at the door and taking a breath before pushing it open and stepping into the room. It was an inner workspace, so there were no windows, but Livia had lit the candles surrounding the walls and was currently hunched over a cutting board and carefully mincing white myrtle petals and dropping them into simmering water to steep. He shut the door behind him, and she looked up.

“Eskel. Did you need something?”

He held up his hands. “I just want to talk, Liv.”

“Oh?” She kept her tone conversational, but he could hear the beating of her heart racing within her chest; the way her breathing grew just slightly more uneven. “What about?”

“What happened the other night.”

She turned away with a small shrug. “I did not think there was anything much to talk about.”

“Bullshit. I upset you, and yeah, you were right to be pissed off, but if we’re going into this life or death battle I don’t want to do it with you still angry with me.”

“I was not angry with you, Eskel,” she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was angry with myself.”

Eskel stepped closer to her, and she set aside the brew she’d been working on. “Why, Liv? You were honest. No one can fault you for that.”

She gave a quiet snort. “Yes, it worked out wonderfully for me, didn’t it?”

They were quiet for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” She responded carefully.

“What you said. That night, when I came up to your room.”

Livia looked at the floor, her arms crossed across her chest. “I was really rather hoping you had been too shitfaced to remember.”

“So you did mean it?” Eskel took another step closer, and Livia finally looked at him, her eyes meeting his.

“Of course I did, Eskel. I-”

But whatever else she was about to say was cut short by a commotion from the front hall, and the sounds of enthused shouts rang forth from the courtyard. Livia sighed, then tilted up on her toes to brush a kiss to his cheek. “We’ll talk later, Eskel, I promise,” she murmured, then walked out of the workshop. Eskel shook his head, but followed her outside, where Yen was enthusiastically embracing a silver haired young woman that Eskel barely recognized for the years since he had seen her.

Ciri had come home.

* * *

Livia had spent most of her life hiding, or running, or otherwise avoiding the exact situation she had now found herself in. A chill had fallen over the valley: a sure sign the Wild Hunt had found them. They had done all they could to prepare, but there were so few of them…

She stood on the rampart wall, high above the valley where even now Geralt and Lambert were seeking out smaller groups of riders, trying to thin out the ranks before they inevitably reached the keep. Eskel stood at her side, silent, but he had taken her hand in his and held it as they waited. Finally, in the distance, they could hear the first sounds of battle ringing out in the fading twilight.

“I’m glad you’re here, Livia,” Eskel spoke at last, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

Despite the fear in her heart, she managed a small smile as she looked up at him.

“There is no where I would rather be.”

* * *

Had they not been in a battle for their lives, Eskel would have liked the opportunity to simply watch Livia fight. For someone who was always exceedingly reluctant to use her magic, she was damned good with it. Tendrils of lightning snaked from her hands like ribbons, wrapping around the necks of their foes and snapping them neatly or dragging them beneath a killing blow by one of the others. Her movements were fluid and graceful and he would bet hard coin that she was a stunning dancer under other circumstances.

Despite their best efforts, however, the fight was not going well. They’d been pushed back to the inner courtyard, but Eskel had ended up separated from the rest, and now he was facing Caranthir. The Aen Elle mage had proven a powerful opponent, and had knocked him to the ground and his sword out of his hand. Eskel was struck by the sudden realization that he was very likely about to die, and felt an unfamiliar ache in his heart as the memory of Livia’s smile, her touch, her voice flashed through his mind. Then, from the corner of his eye, a streak of light, and the angry music of metal meeting metal.

_Ciri_.

No longer the child they had helped raise within the relative safety of Kaer Morhen’s walls, but a woman and a warrior and the embodiment of ferocity as she beat back the mage. Then, in the distance, a horn sounded. Caranthir turned to face it, then disappeared through a portal of his own creation, leaving the rest of his allies to finish off Eskel and capture Ciri.

“We have to get the gate open,” she shouted, already slashing at one of the remaining foes.

“I’m on it,” Eskel called back, stabbing a hound through the gut as they fought their way towards the controls.

Somehow, they made it to the inner courtyard, and regrouped with the others. “Where’s Livia?” He grasped Lambert’s arm as the other man ran past.

“Up there.” Lambert nodded in the general direction of where Yennefer was trying to hold the barrier spell. “When Ciri went to help you, someone had to stay and protect Yen. You should have heard the swears though, when Vesemir told her she couldn’t go after you…”

“Damn it, they’re coming in through the gaps!” Eskel cut Lambert off before casting igni at an approaching pack of hounds. The fire slowed them, but several of the ones at the back just shook it off and pressed their approach. Somewhere in the distance Geralt had closed a portal with one of the dimeritium bombs they had prepared earlier, but there were just too many of them. They were going to be overrun soon, and-

There was a burst of light as Yennefer’s strength finally failed and the barrier collapsed. Then, an explosion rocked the keep as the front gates gave and an icy cold descended.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

_How is it so cold?_

Eskel regained consciousness suddenly, staggering to his knees as the spell wore off. He had a raging headache, and the world was spinning around him. Unable to return to his feet, he collapsed on the ground, exhausted. He thought he could hear his name being shouted from somewhere in the distance, and then darkness again.

The next time he woke, he was vaguely aware of being indoors; maybe on his cot in the main hall of Kaer Morhen? He pried his eyelids open, tried to focus his vision. At the edge of his consciousness he sensed startling blue eyes beneath a furrowed brow, focused intently on wounds he could feel but could not see; the scent of celandine and magic and the fevered murmuring of spells.

“Liv…” it was all he could manage to croak out, but her words were gentle as she replied.

“Hush, Eskel,” she whispered. “You will be alright, I promise.”

He didn’t try to speak again. Instead, he reached a hand up to carefully cup the back of her neck, drawing her down close to him until his lips met hers. Finally, after all the time he had spent wanting to do exactly this, he kissed her. And gods help him, she was kissing him back. Too soon she was drawing away again, her lips brushing lightly across his cheek.

“You and I still need to have a talk,” she informed him softly. “Later. For now…” She turned away, and Eskel could almost swear there were tears in her eyes. “For now, we need to see to your wounds and… and mourn what we have lost.”

Eskel felt his heart drop in his chest, his relief at seeing Livia safe and alive and, apparently, willing to forgive his earlier transgressions fading as he tried to sit up and take stock of those around him. Lambert was sitting upright on his own cot, offering a token protest as the sorceress Keira Metz prodded at him. Triss was looking over Roche and Ves, neither of whom seemed too worse the wear. Hjalmar and his friend Folan were leaning hard against a wooden scaffolding, speaking quietly with Ermion, though Vigi the Loon was nowhere to be found. Not exactly surprising, given the other man’s manic tendencies in battle. He looked around for Geralt or Ciri, or Vesemir, or even Yen…

“Liv.” Eskel took her hand, laced her fingers with his own. “Who…”

“He saved Ciri,” Livia whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks now. Eskel was not certain he had ever seen a sorceress cry; wasn’t sure they could. “And she saved us all, but…”

Eskel leaned back against the cot with a sigh. “Vesemir.”

Livia nodded miserably. “I’m so sorry, Eskel.”

There was nothing else to say, really. He waited silently as she finished healing what she could and tending what she couldn’t. Then, without a word, he held his arms out to her and drew her close, holding her tight against his chest as she quietly wept the tears he could not.

They fell asleep like that, both worn by exhaustion and grief and the bittersweet relief that came with their kiss, and the silent acknowledgement that if nothing else, they had each other. Eskel slept deeply, Livia’s spells easing the worst of the pain from his body and her presence easing the ache in his heart. He slept through the day and into the next evening, and when he woke Livia was sitting in a chair beside him, though he noticed at some point she had changed out of her bloody battle clothes and into the first dress he had ever seen her in. It was a deep, mournful green that evoked the unsettled whispers of the deep forests. It was a dress for sorrow, and for loss.

Eskel slowly sat up, accepting the draught Livia offered him without bothering to ask what was in it. His head felt better as soon as he drank it, and he gave her a silent nod of gratitude. He stood, taking her hand as they walked out of the keep and towards the funeral pyre Geralt had constructed while the others had recuperated. No one spoke as the flames began to consume the wood and the body of the man that had meant more to them than any of them would ever have been able to explain anyways. He wrapped his arm around Livia as she shook with silent sobs against his chest. Geralt spoke a few quiet words to Ciri before the young woman shook her head angrily, striding forward and snatching Vesemir’s wolf head medallion from the pyre and then stalking off in the opposite direction.

Geralt looked after her, seemed to be weighing whether or not he should follow and ultimately deciding not to. Not yet. Instead, he began speaking quietly to those who had gathered at Kaer Morhen; who had risked their lives by his side. Eskel and Livia watched the fire burn, lost in their own thoughts, until Geralt approached.

“We’ll stay a while longer,” the other witcher informed him gruffly. “Ciri _has_ to get her powers under control. We were lucky this time, that Avallac’h was able to rein it in. Next time, we might not be. Kaer Morhen is as safe as anyplace else, so we’ll use this as a base until we head back to Novigrad.”

Eskel nodded slowly. “Think I’ll head south. Maybe Lormark, then… then find somewhere else to pass the winter.”

“Stay,” Geralt offered, but Eskel just shook his head.

“This place is dying, Geralt. It has been for a long time and this,” he gestured towards the funeral pyre, “this was just the nail in the coffin.”

Livia stepped away from him, her eyes dropping to the ground and refusing to meet his own. She turned away from them, heading back in the direction of the keep.

“Liv?”

She shook her head. “I need to go take care of some things.” And with that, she walked away, stopping only briefly to accept an embrace and a few hushed words from Zoltan. Geralt watched her go, then shook his head slightly before clapping Eskel on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” he said before making his was over to Ermion. He had barely left when Lambert took his place. Eskel sighed, not certain if he was really in the mood to talk to the more volatile witcher.

“I hear that right? You’re finally abandoning this old heap too?”

Eskel shrugged. “What’s left for us here, Lambert? Ruins and memories and not a lot else. Figure we’ll head south, see what kind of work I can find in that direction. Liv can make a living just about anywhere, assuming we can avoid the witch hunters. I’m kind of hopeful Emperor Emhyr will follow through on his offer of amnesty, but I’m also not gonna hold my breath.”

“I see,” Lambert nodded. “So you plan on taking her with you?”

Eskel paused. He hadn’t even realized he’d included Livia in his plans, but…

“Yeah. I hope to,” he admitted.

“Then you might want to tell _her_ that,” Lambert pointed out dryly. “Cause I just overheard her telling Zoltan she’s going up to her tower to pack her things. She thinks that now that Vesemir is gone, she has to leave, and if you don’t fucking stop her she is going to disappear into the night and you’ll have to track her down all over again.”

“Shit.” Eskel didn’t bother waiting for Lambert to continue, instead walking as quickly as his healing body could manage in the direction he had last seen Livia go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW. Art is by @noctuaalba.

_No one wants you when you have no heart and  
_ _I'm sitting pretty in my brand new scars and  
_ _You'll never know if you don't ever try again  
_ _So let's try._

-“Hallelujah” by Panic! At the Disco

* * *

_Books first. Fragile vials wrapped in my clothes. I ought to try and make up one last batch of the celandine salve for Lambert before I go. Gods only know he’ll inevitably do something to fuck up his shoulder again_.

Livia sighed. This was not the first, nor the tenth, time she had packed her things and prepared to leave in the dark of night. She supposed she could try and pretend she did not know why it was so much harder this time, but there was really no point in lying to herself. But if Eskel already had plans to leave, then she had no reason to stay either.

“You going somewhere, Liv?”

She looked up, heart racing briefly as she turned to face Eskel. “Damn it. Don’t sneak up on me like that!” She chided, but they both knew her heart wasn’t in it.

“Just be glad I’m not cat school,” he gave her a small smile. “You think I’m quiet? Those bastards are damned silent. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Livia turned away, pretending to busy herself with a collection of herbs preserved in glass vials. “Somewhere, yes. No idea where yet.”

Eskel frowned, closing her door behind him before crossing his arms over his chest. “Who said you had to leave at all?”

“Vesemir was the one who allowed me to stay here, as a favor to Zoltan. I’d like to think I made myself useful, but now that…” She swallowed hard, the grief of losing the old witcher still raw. “You yourself said there is nothing left here. Geralt and Ciri may stay for a while to train with Avallac’h, but you know they’ll eventually move on. Smart coin has Lambert trailing off after Keira wherever she ends up running off to. I saw the way he was looking at her. And you…” Livia’s words caught in her throat. “You said you were planning on traveling south, yes? Would you all really trust Kaer Morhen to the stewardship of a lone sorceress?”

He shook his head. “Liv, I feel like you’re missing the obvious option here.”

She stood, planting her hands on her hips and lifting her chin in subtle defiance. “And what is that, exactly?”

Instead of answering, Eskel just reached into his pocket. “Here.”

Livia tilted her head in curiosity, but reached out her hand to accept the gift. It was a necklace, set on a length of black velvet ribbon that would place the pendant just above her collarbone. The pendant itself was an oval cut gemstone in the same deep, echoing green of the forest on the mountain. It had been set in a wreath of slightly clumsy silver leaves and branches, but the overall effect was pleasing to the eye. She looked up at Eskel, who gave a slightly sheepish shrug.

“All the other sorceresses I’ve ever known have had some sort of special necklace they always wore: Triss has got her sapphire, Yen’s got her star, Keira’s got that weird symbol… But I’ve never seen you with one, so I just thought… I don’t know. Zoltan said you might like it. He did the silver smithing for me, but it was my idea, so if you hate it you can blame me.”

“Eskel,” Livia laughed quietly, stepping closer and arching onto her toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love it. I’ve never worn one simply because I have never had one that ever meant much to me. This one does. Do you mind?” She offered it back to him and lifted her hair off the back of her neck, her breath hitching slightly as he gently fastened the ribbon, the metal and stone cool and comforting against her skin.

He stood back and studied her, and in his golden eyes Livia saw something she thought might have been there earlier. Now she was certain. “It looks good on you, Liv,” he acknowledged, his voice soft. He reached a hand up and brushed a lock of hair away from her face before his arms settled around her waist. “Come with me.”

She looked up at him, blinking in confusion. “Come with you?”

“Sure,” he nodded. “You’re used to traveling. It would be nice to have some company, especially as pleasant as yours. Besides,” he paused, his eyes meeting hers. “I can’t in good conscience leave the woman I love to fend for herself in a crumbling fortress with no one but that ornery beast Ombra for company.”

Livia took a step backwards, her hands still holding his and a smile tugging at her lips. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Livia.”

She exhaled slowly. Then, she let his hands fall from hers as she slowly ran one of her own down the length of her torso, resisting the urge to shiver as her dress and small clothes simply vanished in the wake of the gesture. When she stood completely bare save for the necklace he had given her, she faced him with her hip cocked to one side and her hands at her waist.

“Took you long enough.”

Eskel laughed, his own hands already moving to shed his clothing. “That’s a pretty damn neat trick, Liv.”

“You like it?” She asked airily, stepping closer and helping him push his shirt off over his head, slender fingers tracing scars she intended to memorize. “I admit I wondered if I could still do it.”

“Not one you use often?”

Her smile widened. “Not since the succubus,” she retorted, her remark turning to giggles as he lifted her easily into his arms, pressing a long kiss to her lips before laying her on the bed and fitting his body over hers, kisses trailing from her mouth down the arch of her neck and lower down to trace her collarbone. He pressed his lips briefly to the pendant on her necklace, then resumed his path down the curve of her breast.

“Mmmm,” she moaned softly as his teeth rasped over the rapidly hardening flesh of her nipple, her back arching up off the bed and pressing closer to him. She’d spent a _lot_ of nights she could probably never admit to thinking about being with Eskel, and now she felt like she would never be able to get enough of him; never be able to be close enough to him.

His hands traced a steady pattern up and down the curves of her waist and hips as he turned his attention to her other breast, his mouth more insistent this time. Livia hissed with a sharp intake of breath when he bit down slightly, and he paused, looking up at her.

“You ok, Liv?”

“Definitely,” she laughed, breathless. “Don’t stop?”

Eskel reached up a surprisingly gentle hand and stroked her cheek. “Never. You’re probably going to end up regretting the long life spans.”

“Never,” she echoed back to him, running her nails lightly over his shoulders and down his back as he resumed a line of kisses down her belly, drawing the lines of her hips and brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, the warmth of his breath against her sending a pleasant shiver all the way up her spine. “That feels _so_ nice,” she murmured.

“Good,” he smiled against her skin before nipping it softly. “But I’ve gotta ask…”

Livia looked down at Eskel, who whose tongue was currently mapping the dusting of freckles on her left hip. “Ask what?”

“How exactly do you keep everything so… smooth?” He gestured to her legs and the pale curve of her sex. “Is it just, magic, or what?”

She laughed. Just a giggle at first, but she found she couldn’t stop. Eskel laughed too, pressing more kisses against her legs and back up her waist. “It isn’t magic! Well… ok… there is a _little_ magic involved. Mostly it is just very careful work with a blade and soothing oils.”

“I can’t argue with the results,” he informed her with mock seriousness. As if to emphasize the point, he slipped his hand between her thighs, fingers teasing lightly over her entrance and drawing a long, low moan from her throat. “Just not something I’m used to.”

“Well, it’s nice to have someone else to appreciate it.” She inhaled sharply when his fingers found _exactly_ the right spot she wanted them to after less experimenting than she would have expected. “It’s been a very, very long time.”

He pressed harder, his mouth going to the curve of her neck. “You could have fooled me.”

Livia could feel herself on the edge, her hands grasping the sheets. “Eskel…” She whispered, and he kissed her, the taste of him as his tongue swept against hers sending her spiraling. When they parted she let her head fall back against the pillow, her breath coming in ragged pants. He lay down beside her, holding her there for a moment as she calmed her racing heart.

“Somehow you’re even more beautiful when you come undone like that,” he said, smiling slightly as she pushed him flat on his back and straddled his hips. His hands moved to grasp her hips, the calluses on his fingers pleasantly rough against the smooth planes of her skin and nearly enough to break her all over again, but she did not intend to be rushed.

“Say it,” she taunted, but her voice was breathless and hopeful and desperate all at once.

“I love you.”

She best down and brushed her lips against his, rubbing his nose briefly with hers affectionately. “I love you, Eskel.” Livia shifted back down, rocking back on her knees and slowly letting him guide himself inside her, her breath catching when her hips met his. The selfish part of her was gratified that his did as well.

“Damn, Liv,” he exhaled, his eyes traveling the length of her body and his hands tightening slightly at her hips, but he let her set the tempo, her body moving with his with a certainty she had never felt before. She knew there was no rush, but part of her was so damn tired of waiting. Eskel seemed to know it, too: he sat up, their bodies still joined, and wrapped his arms around her waist as he kissed her deeply. He rolled her onto her back, his eyes never leaving hers as he picked up where she had left off, every thrust filling her and setting sparks dancing along every sensitive nerve.

She arched her body against his, desperate just for the simple sensation of his skin against hers, and he seemed to understand. He leaned down and kissed her again and again, whispering her name between each kiss and touching her a thousand different ways that had her losing all sense of anything other than this moment, and the way being with him felt. When his hand slipped once more between her thighs, she didn’t bother trying to stop him, instead sinking into the bed and crying out as she crested her peak. She clung to his shoulders, anchoring herself to him as he fell over the edge as well before he collapsed beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist and his lips marking a line of kisses up and down the back of her neck.

“I love you, Liv,” he said in a tone that was damn near reverent.

“I love you, Eskel,” she sighed in contentment. “So. Better than the succubus?”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” He grumbled, but he buried his face in her hair and pulled her closer against his chest. “Why did I ever agree to play that stupid game? Besides, if I remember correctly, _you_ drank on that one too.”

“I did,” Livia replied, a grin creeping onto her face. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Figured it was pretty damn well implied.” Eskel pressed a kiss to her cheek. “It was… it was different, with you, Liv. Better, definitely, than it has ever been. More than I can really put into words. Maybe because of the way I feel, I don’t know.”

“Makes sense,” she agreed, rolling over so she was facing him and reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Because I feel the same way. It’s never been like this before. It’s never felt so good, or so right.”

He nodded slowly, and tried to stifle a yawn. “It’s kind of nice knowing that not everything in the world has gone to shit. That after what we lost, I still have you.”

“You do,” Livia promised. “Stay with me tonight?”

“Of course. I doubt anyone will miss me elsewhere. Besides, better figure out if either of us is a snorer now rather than on the road.”

She giggled, but she snuggled close and curled up against his chest. “I’m afraid they may already have a pretty good idea where you ended up, darling. I forgot to set my sound wards and I was not exactly subtle. And I do _not_ snore.”

Eskel chuckled quietly as he kissed her forehead.

“Good to know.”

* * *

There was a soft, misty rain falling outside the tower’s window when he woke the next morning. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and why his entire body ached. Then Eskel remembered the last forty-eight hours, and he half wished the myth about witcher mutations stripping away emotions was true. It had been a hell of a couple days. Then again…

The other half of him was wonderfully aware of the warm, delicate body currently draped half under the covers, her mahogany waves of hair tumbling down her back and her chest rising and falling softly with each slow, peaceful breath she took. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple, and her lips curved up into a smile. “Morning,” he murmured against her ear, his lips trailing kisses down her cheek until she rolled over so that he could kiss her properly.

“Good morning,” she replied when they parted, her arms winding easily around his neck. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Where else would I be?” His brow furrowed slightly, wrapping a protective arm around her waist, though what exactly he was protecting her from he couldn’t say.

She shrugged as she stood and went over to her wash table and began combing out her hair and brushing her teeth. He watched in open appreciation as she moved, even the simple daily tasks somehow more intriguing for her presence. She still had not answered him, so he climbed out of bed and came to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. She leaned back against him with a small sigh.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe it is because _I_ am so used to running; to being the one who has disappeared the next morning.” Livia rose from the chair and began reaching for her clothes, but Eskel stopped her with a gentle grasp of her wrist and pulled her first into his arms, then back into bed. She laughed, but did not try to dissuade him. Instead, she looked into his eyes and asked, “Were you serious, last night?”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Liv,” he replied slowly. “Which part?”

“About me coming with you. About us walking the Path together. I am certain I could make myself useful, if that is the case. Moreover, I am not without resources, although I admit they are a bit scattered at the moment.”

“Livia.” he hugged her close, kissing her forehead as she nuzzled against his shoulder. “I didn’t ask you to come with me because I thought you’d be useful. I asked you because I love you, and I don’t want to leave you behind. I never really thought I’d commit to anyone because I never though I’d fall for someone I thought would be able, or willing, to follow me or my line of work. Never figured I’d be lucky enough to find someone like you.”

She was quiet for a moment, the warmth of her breath soft on his skin as her fingers absently traced old scars. “I don’t want to run anymore, Eskel,” she murmured against his chest. “Not from you.”

“Liv, I will not let _anyone_ hurt you ever again.” He tilted her chin up gently so she could meet his eyes. “And if I ever find out how hurt you in the first place, I’m probably gonna kill them.”

She gave a small snort of bitter laughter. “I’m afraid you’re a bit late for that.” She brushed a kiss against his lips before leaning back against his shoulder. “Do you want to hear the story?”

“Only if you’re ready to tell it, Liv.” Eskel settled back against the pillows, still holding her and stroking her hair gently with one hand as she took a deep breath and began.

“I was born in a village that does not exist anymore. At birth, I was promised to the minor lord who my parents owed fealty to. I was to be a ‘gift’ once I turned eighteen, although the gift was to be reciprocated with a generous bride price. The lord I was sold to was willing to wait. He could still get some use out of his current wife before he discarded her, and he had long coveted my mother, who was considered something of a beauty. It is perhaps for the best he was never given the opportunity to be disappointed that I took after my father more than my mother.”

Eskel interrupted Livia’s narrative with a fierce kiss, stealing away the self-deprecating words. “You are beautiful,” he whispered.

She smiled, some of the sadness drifting from her eyes. “Thank you,” she replied. “In any case, it ended up being a moot point. The day my parents discovered I had magic in my veins, they knew they could get a far better price for me than had been offered, and they made sure the lord knew it. I could no longer be a wife of course, since I would produce no heirs, but a sorceress makes for a powerful mistress. Especially, if I may be so bold, one as powerful as I would eventually become. The village elders informed the man who bought me that the price had just increased exponentially.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t go over real well?” Eskel asked, anger creeping into his tone. Livia had been living with this for decades, but for him the knowledge was fresh and raw, and the thought of his lover being bartered for by her own parents and the people that should have been protecting her was enough to drive him mad.

“About as well as you’d expect,” she shrugged within the space of his arms. “He sent back their heads, at least. More than I expected to be honest. He also sent a messenger to inform us that he would be collecting his merchandise at that time, rather than waiting until I came of age. I don’t know if he actually intended to abuse a child or just hold me prisoner until I came of age, but I also didn’t plan on sticking around to find out. So I ran away, as far as I could. Took the mare of one of the village elders since it wasn’t like he was going to be getting any use out of her anymore, and rode hard. But the man who lost me was not going to give up his prize that easily. He spent many, many years and more resources than I was quite frankly worth trying to track me down. I don’t even think he gave a damn about possessing me so much as he cared about the insult to his honor. And of course, my parents were also quite intent on bringing me back, since their lives depended on it.”

Livia paused, and Eskel rubbed his hand up and down her back, tracing her spine with his thumb. Despite the matter-of-fact way she laid out her tale, he could hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Obviously they never caught you. Can’t say I’m sorry.”

“They did not,” she laughed dryly. “I boarded a ship to Skellige and stayed there for a few years. That’s where I learned much of my herb craft; from the druids on Ard Skellig. Eventually rumors reached me that my pursuers had caught my trail, so I left for the mainland. I was able to live in Ofir for about seven years, working as a weaver and doing some alchemy on the side. Then I wandered Kovir for a while. Redania. Back to Skellige. I actually was in Beauclair for quite awhile; made a fair amount of coin mixing cosmetics, dyes, and perfumes for the upper classes there. And hand to the gods, it had better still be earning interest in my account or Cianfanelli and I are going to have a very long talk. Eventually I ran into Zoltan and took up with him and his band. Ended up in Novigrad”

Eskel was quiet for a moment, processing what she’d told him. “Are they still hunting you?”

Livia bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “No? Maybe? The man I was sold to is long dead, and his son and grandson are devout adherents to the Church of the Eternal Fire, so they wouldn’t be caught dead consorting with a sorceress. I may still have relatives who would prefer to see me hang for either my gifts or for the humiliation they suffered for my disobedience, but as I said, the village I grew up in was destroyed in the wars. I am no longer certain if any of them survived, or if they still have the strength or resources to try and find me. Honestly, when I fled Novigrad and the Witch Hunters I had intended to stay at Kaer Morhen and then, once things settled, maybe return to my house in Beauclair. I’ve kept up the taxes on it, though the maintenance has probably suffered a bit.”

“Now, however,” she laughed softly as she pressed a series of kisses along his neck and up to his cheek, “I imagine I will be heading south to Lormark, if that is still where you intend to go.”

“Seems as good a direction as any,” Eskel agreed. “I know Geralt wishes one of us would stay here, but…”

“I know,” Livia sighed. “Something died with Vesemir. Something I’m not sure any of us can recapture. Maybe we are not meant to. I’ll miss the garden, of course, but perhaps someday I will be able to grow a new one.”

Eskel leaned down and kissed her, sinking into the warmth and taste of her mouth against his. “You know, I bet there are worst places to spend the winter than Beauclair,” he suggested, and he felt her lips curve up in a smile against his cheek.

“There certainly are. And you can’t beat their wines, although I fear I will always have a secret preference for a good Kaedweni stout. I wonder if they will still import it for me.” She shifted so that her head and torso were draped over his chest, arms neatly folded and her head resting on her arms as she looked at him, eyes sparkling.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” he assured her, brushing a lock of hair away from her cheek. “Damn, I love you, Liv.”

“I love you Eskel,” she whispered, leaning forward and brushing a kiss against his lips.

“ _I love you_.”

* * *

_One Year Later_

It was once said that witchers never died in their own beds. Then again, people say many things, with varying degrees of truth or accuracy.

The world had changed. Many people now said that Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, heiress to the empire of Nilfgard and the Lady of Space and Time had perished, sacrificing herself to end the threat of the White Frost. And yet, still others said they could swear they had seen a new witcher on the Path: a woman with silver hair and stunning green eyes and a laugh in her smile.

Varying degrees of truth.

Amidst the rolling hills, shimmering lakes, and somnolent glades of Beauclair, Corvo Bianco had been dragged out of obscurity and granted as payment to the witcher Geralt for his services to the duchy and, as much as any witcher could ever be said to do so, he seemed content to pass a well-earned retirement there with his beloved Yennefer. And it was not so terribly unusual, especially in the winter months, for them to entertain guests from a neighboring farm: a fellow witcher with dark hair and a scar that no longer seemed so vicious as it once had, and a sorceress with long, tumbling hair of mahogany and sparkling eyes the color of a spring sky. They would sit and drink and laugh, and for all the scars between them, both emotional and physical, they seemed whole and content. There were talks about the future, and forevers, and all the possibilities they had once thought were barred to them.

There would always be work to be done for a witcher, even in the seeming idylls of Beauclair, and Eskel still took jobs to keep his mind and body honed and sharp. Livia had picked up her trade again as well, and her potions and elixirs were in high demand for both their palliative and aesthetic properties. And sometimes they simply disappeared for a while, traveling to new places and accepting new contracts for no other reason than because they could. 

Despite everything they had once believed, Eskel and Livia had found their forever. And that truth, at least, was certain.


End file.
